Hermione's Valentine
by Eldrice
Summary: A Valentine's Day snub leads to unexpected results . . . Sweet, silly, and fun, with just the faintest touch of concluding darkness. R:Hr, H:G. COMPLETE.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N**: I've had this idea floating round in my head for awhile, and wanted to get it out for Valentine's Day. It's a little silly and touching and melodramatic, which is exactly how I like my love stories. I'm posting the first chapter today and one more every day until Monday, when (hopefully) the story will be finished. I promise to try my hardest (glowing reviews will help!). But purists be warned: this story is not canonical! I'm placing it in the sixth year, but keeping older students such as Fred/George and Oliver Wood around. I don't know why I couldn't let them go, so they make appearances here. If their impossible presence disturbs you, blame it on a multi-dimensional time-space continuum wormhole taken at super-sonic light speed. If you know what that means, you're a smarter person than I am. 

**Standard Disclaimers Apply**: Harry Potter and Co. belong to JK Rowling and I am making no profit from this.

**Hermione's Valentine**

"First love is a little foolish and a lot of curiosity."

- George Bernhard Shaw

_Dumbledore's Decision_

"Pardon me, everyone! I'm sorry to interrupt your supper, but quiet down!" Hogwarts Headmaster Albus Dumbledore rose from his seat at the Teacher's Table in the Great Hall, swaying slightly. His left fist clenched a goblet filled with amber liquid, and he was making wandering gestures with his right hand.

"You don't think he's sloshed, do you?" Ron Weasley whispered to Harry Potter, who was gazing longingly at a mountain of scones and tarts that would have to wait until after Dumbledore's surprise announcement.

"Huh?" Harry replied absently, tearing his famished eyes away from the tantalizing sweets. Oliver Wood had worked the Gryffindor Quidditch team extra hard that afternoon, running them through numerous complicated drills until even Harry's back was damp with sweat in the chill February air. They hadn't left the pitch till near-dark, when it was so murky that Oliver hadn't seen the Snitch that slipped accidentally from his Seeker's sweaty fingers. Afterwards, a frazzled Madame Pomfrey had told the nausea-wracked and weeping Gryffindor Keeper that no charm worked so well against a swallowed Snitch as simply letting Nature take her course.

_Poor Wood_, Harry thought guiltily.

Fred and George Weasley, having performed Mastication Muteness charms on each other, were silently and happily gorging themselves with meat pasties and apple pie. Harry wistfully wished that he or Ron knew that spell. Hermione Granger probably did. But she was sitting across from them and had her eyes studiously trained on Dumbledore. He didn't think she'd be any help.

Ron tried again. "Dumbledore. The man's looking seriously tipsy up there. Think he's had one too many?"

Trying to ignore the heard of stampeding elephants in his stomach, Harry turned his brilliant green eyes to the Headmaster, who was dressed even more outlandishly than usual. His robes were of the rosiest pink, and several large red ribbons were tied in his silver beard. Instead of his usual half-moon spectacles, a pair of heart shaped sunglasses perched on his long nose. Harry grinned. "Nah," he replied casually. "Dumbledore always looks like that. Or maybe he's just got tight underwear on or something"

Ron snorted.

"Ron!" Hermione hissed. "We're supposed to be paying attention"

Ron's mouth dropped in astonishment. "Bloody hell, Hermione!" he said, his voice rising and growing more rapid with each word. "That was Harry, not me! I didn't even - "

"Shh!" Several faces turned their way in accusatory suspicion. Ron clamped his mouth shut and sunk down on the bench, ears flaming. He lobbed a kernel of creamed corn at Hermione in a mild act of mute retaliation. It missed. Hermione grinned wickedly, winked at Harry, and turned her full attention back to Dumbledore.

"Professor Miro, our new Muggle Studies instructor, approached me yesterday with what I may say was an excellent suggestion." Dumbledore waved a gracious hand in the direction of a young witch dressed in jeans and a David Hasselhof t-shirt. She smiled and nodded, snapping her bubblegum enthusiastically. Simultaneously, Dumbledore glanced kindly at Professor Snape, who had his arms crossed and was glowering in a darkly rebellious manner.

"Whatever it is," Harry murmured viciously to Ron, "Snape's not too keen about it"

"You could say that - "

"Ron!"

"Hermione, lighten up! Why not yell at Harry? He's the - "

"Shh!" the chorus went again. Harry saw Ginny Weasley look their way in curiosity. He felt his cheeks warm. Uncomfortable, he turned back to Dumbledore.

"Tomorrow is the Feast of St. Valentine. Since we don't perform the ritual wizarding ceremony here at Hogwart's for reasons of which I'm sure _many_ of you are aware -"

There were several snickers from the older students. Fred and George Weasley stopped eating long enough to make exaggerated smacking noises in the direction of Angelina Johnson and Alicia Spinnet, who giggled, blushed, and looked deeply embarrassed.

" - Professor Miro has suggested that we celebrate schoolwide in Muggle fashion"

The snickers vanished. The only noise was Neville Longbottom's stunned squeak.

Dumbledore looked mildly amused. He absently tied and retied one of the red ribbons in his beard. "To that end, I've provided the prefects with something Muggles call 'art supplies.' To keep as close to the spirit of Muggle Valentine's Day as possible, magic should not be used in making Valentines for your friends"

More silence.

"Participation is not required. But Professor Miro has said she will give ample extra-credit to those of you who do"

Harry saw Hermione, who had been looking glum, perk up somewhat at the mention of extra-credit. Ron, however, continued to stare dejectedly into his bowl of stew.

"If you're not in Muggle Studies, however, Professor Binns has kindly consented to add that extra-credit to his end of the year exam"

Snape's snort of derision was audible throughout the Hall.

Ron was looking up cheerfully. "Excellent," he whispered to Harry in a low and excited voice. "That's my worst class"

Harry grinned and nodded in agreement. His History of Magic grade could certainly use some padding too.

"I'm sure this will be a very enjoyable diversion for everyone," Dumbledore continued. "And may I take this opportunity to say that I expect an especially pretty card from you, Madame Hooch." He wagged his finger at her. "You've been making sheep's eyes at me all year."

The wild-haired flying instructor looked surprised. But as everyone was laughing, she smiled gamely and waved an exaggerated kiss to Dumbledore.

"And I'm sure that those many young, strapping swains of yours, Professor McGonagall - "

The Head of Gryffindor House stopped laughing and gasped. "Albus! You promised"

"Now, now, Minerva. All in good fun." Dumbledore gave her a sweet look. McGonagall stopped fusing and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear self-consciously. Harry thought that she looked rather flattered.

"Everyone will be excused from homework tonight so that they can work on the project"

The Hall roared in enthusiasm.

"That's all for now!" Dumbledore sat back down with a sweep of his robes. "And if Fred and George Weasley have left any food at all, you may return to your feasting."

/0/0/0/0/0/0/0/0/0/0/0/0/0/0/0/0/0

"This is going to be awful," Hermione groaned to Harry as they and Ron swept out of the Hall with the other students. "I mean of all the Muggle holidays, why Valentine's"

"I know," Harry said sympathetically, pretending to sound glum. But he didn't really know why Hermione was so upset. It sounded like a perfect plan to him. Slap some cards together, get extra-credit, and everyone should be happy. _Especially_ Hermione. After all, she could use the spare time tonight to 'work ahead'

But Dean Thomas was also blue. "I was so relieved when I found out we didn't have to do all that stuff first year," he muttered darkly. "Professor Miro should be fired for cruel and unusual punishment"

"I don't get it," Ron said around a mouthful of pastry he had nicked from the Hall. He saw Hermione glaring at him and swallowed hurriedly. "What's so terrible abut it? I mean, we've got no homework tonight, sounds brilliant to me."

Hermione shook her head, poofy hair flying about her like a cloud. "It's a perfectly ghastly time, Ron," she said bleakly. "You're supposed to give your sweetheart cards and candies and flowers and stupid little stuffed animals. And if no one gives you anything, you're supposed to feel all sad and lonely or something. Really, it's just a commercial marketing ploy for the card and candy companies," she said dismissively.

Ron grinned and waggled his eyebrows. "Sounds like someone didn't have a boyfriend"

Hermione gave him a withering look. "Some of us had more _worthwhile_ things to spend our time on than chasing boys," she said haughtily.

"Like reading," Ron replied with complete solemnity.

"Exactly! Like reading . . "

"I've heard you've only made it through the dictionary twice . . ."

Harry snorted with laughter. Hermione glared at them both. "Honestly," she muttered, juggling the mound of books in her arms. She gave them a disgusted look and scurried ahead to join Ginny Weasley and Luna Lovegood, who had their heads together and were in fits of giggles.

"Well!" Ron huffed, watching Hermione flounce away. "If she's going to be so _sensitive_ about it!"


	2. Chapter 2

The boys had a rough time that night in the Gryffindor tower dormitory. Neville, having never used glue before, managed to paste one hand to his cheek and the other to Dean's poster of the West Ham football team. Furious that Neville might tear the paper, Dean refused to let the other boy unglue himself until someone tracked down Hermione in the library and brought her up to perform the _Waddious Unfusious _charm.

"You really ought to learn this one, Dean" Hermione said expertly as she swished her wand at Neville, who, aside from being an unbecoming shade of scarlet, was glaring at Dean with an uncharacteristic look of murder in his eyes. "It's a variant of the _Waddiwasi _charm Professor Lupin showed us third year. Mrs. Weasley's told me it's a _must _have when Fred and George are around . . . "

And try as he might, Harry just couldn't get Ron to understand the concept of drawing a picture that wasn't supposed to move.

"This looks horrible" Ron moaned as he stared as the mess of purple squiggles he had made on the green paper. Drawing implements in the wizarding world, unlike Muggle markers, were bewitched to make anything they drew look as if it were in motion.

Harry sighed and tried to explain once again. "No, look. See, here's the problem. You can't draw a waving banner by making four different rectangles in different places and thinking they'll somehow come together. Make the line wavy, like this." Harry demonstrated. "And forget about the hopping frogs."

Ron muttered something dark and unpleasant. "They're _supposed _to be fairies."

Still, the evening passed pleasantly enough as they drew and grumbled and gorged themselves on the chocolate hearts that Seamus' Muggle father had sent. Harry entertained the others by telling them about the Valentine cards he had used to make for Dudley. "I got sent home from school for that one, of course" he remembered, grinning nostalgically. "The teacher couldn't understand how I had made it stink like an actual pig sty. Although" he looked thoughtful. "Neither could I, then, for that matter . . ."

But he fell asleep that night with a funny feeling in his stomach. He hadn't told the others everything about his old Valentine's Days. There had been the stinking swamp mud Dudley had stuffed in his school satchel one year (which had ruined a meticulous project on the Battle of Hastings he had spent days on), and the way his classmates had always given him the smallest and meanest pieces of candy, accompanied by looks of scorn that told him he would have received nothing at all if it wasn't a rule that every student had to give something to everyone else. Not that they had really disliked him, of course, but anyone marked by Dudley's gang was a pariah.

Harry sighed and studied the moonlight that played against his bed curtains. He knew it was silly, but he was actually looking forward to having a normal Valentine's Day. It would be nice, something to help him forget things he'd rather not remember. And who knew? Maybe Cho would make him something, and they'd go for a walk, and one thing would lead to another . . .

Annoyed at his own sappiness, Harry shook himself, pulled his blankets tight about him, and buried his head in his pillow.

/0/0/0/0/0/0/0/0/0/0/0/0/0/0/0

"Harry" Ron panted the next morning, hopping around the dormitory while trying to pull on one shoe, too lazy to untie the knot he had left in the laces the night before. "Grab those cards for me, will you? I need a hand here."

Harry, sleep-eyed and tousled, grunted and made his way over to Ron's bed, which was littered with the Valentine's cards his friend had made the night before. Yawning, he started gathering the haphazardly scattered papers into a neat pile.

The dormitory was empty except for him and Ron; Neville, Dean, and Seamus had already descended to the Gryffindor common room. Harry could hear laughter and shouts and squeals drifting up the spiral staircase. Apparently, the card-swapping frenzy had already begun. They'd better hurry up.

As Ron struggled to pull a knotty sweater over his head, Harry ticked off the cards he had saved from disappearance, making sure he hadn't missed any. There was one for Neville, Seamus, Lavender, him (of course), Parvati and Padma, Dean - he was getting to the end of the pile now - Ginny, Fred and George . . .

"Hey, Ron" he said, looking up with a frown. "I can't find Hermione's."

Ron muttered something incomprehensible through the wool smothering his face.

"What"

Ron got the sweater over his head with a final vicious jerk. "I said" he mumbled, spitting blue fuzz out of his mouth"that I didn't make her one."

"Why not" Harry asked, surprised.

Ron started gathering his parchment and quills together. He shrugged one shoulder. "C'mon, Harry" he growled"you saw how she was acting last night at supper. Just where does she get off"

The defensive bitterness in Ron's voice surprised Harry. His two best friends had been goading each other since the first day the met. He didn't know why Ron was taking it so personally all of a sudden. "Yeah, well, that's Hermione, you know . . ."

"And I'm sick of it" Ron snapped, drawing his school robes about him in a dramatic flourish that didn't fit their patched state of disarray. He marched over to Harry and snatched the cards from his friend's hands. His voice went high in a poor imitation of Hermione's: " 'Really, Ronald, can't you even manage to chew correctly! Your shoes are untied, Ron! Ron, must you breathe like a Neanderthal?' And honestly, Harry, you heard her last night. She doesn't _like _the holiday. I bet she doesn't even want anything."

Harry privately disagreed, but decided to say nothing as they walked down the spiral staircase.

The common room was a riot: pink, red, and white streamers dangled from the ceiling like jungle vines, and in every direction Harry looked there were mountains of chocolates and candies. Ron's eyes went dreamy once they entered the room. "Oh, wow, someone got Vampire Hearts! You've got to try these, Harry, they give you fangs that grow longer the more you eat. Our cousin Lionel once grew his all the way to the floor. Of course, they were so heavy he couldn't move until they shrunk again, and Fred and George tied him to a broomstick and "

"Harry! Ron!"

Harry turned to see Hermione and Ginny almost skipping toward them. Hermione had an armful of cards carefully wrapped in bows and a bright, silly smile plastered on her face. Ginny was clinging to her arm and laughing, and both girls looked like they were having a splendid time.

Harry couldn't help grinning back. "Hey," he said as they skidded to a stop in front of him.

"Hi," Ron mumbled.

"Harry," Ginny managed through a mouthful of chocolate, "I have a card for you." She shoved a piece of bright green paper at him, wiping crumbs of chocolate from her lips with her free hand. "And one for you, my sourpuss brother," she grinned at Ron, who bared his teeth and growled at her. She giggled and punched him in the arm.

Hermione was meticulously removing two cards from her beribboned bundle. "Harry, Ron, these are for you," she said happily, handing them over.

"Wow, Hermione." As usual Harry was amazed at the effort his friend put into her projects. Her card was beautiful, a light pink piece of paper covered with delicate ink drawings of hearts and flowers and fantastical creatures. It looked like the medieval manuscripts he had seen once at the British Museum. "Thanks, it's really pretty. I didn't know you could draw so well."

The compliment made Hermione glow.

Out of the corner of his eye, Harry saw that Ron's card was just as beautiful, if not more so. Ron was staring at it with glum eyes. He wondered what his friend was thinking.

"Yeah, thanks, Hermione," Ron muttered, shoving the card roughly into his robe pocket. A puzzled, hurt look flashed briefly in Hermione's eyes, but vanished just as quickly.

"Well," Ginny said expectantly, draping her arms about Hermione's shoulders from behind and resting her chin on the older girl's shoulder. "Where're ours?"

"Yeah," Hermione chimed, reaching back to encircle Ginny's waist. "Not that we're expecting much artistic talent from Quidditch lumps like you." She grinned to show she was teasing.

Harry shuffled his feet and cast a nervous glance at Ron. "Uh, here you go," he muttered, handing the two girls the cards he'd made. Hermione shoved Ginny off her in order too leave her hands free.

"Thanks, Harry!" she said, looking it over and smiling. "It's real pretty." She leaned forward to give him a quick kiss on the cheek. Harry ruffled her hair absently in response.

"Yeah, thanks, Harry," Ginny said. She made an awkward movement, as if she too was going to give him a kiss, but then she caught herself, stepped back, and coughed nervously. "Oh, look!" she cried a little too loud and cheerfully. "There's Luna! I'm going to go say hello." And she scurried away, red hair flying behind her. Harry was glad to see her go.

"Well, Ron," Hermione was saying mischievously, looking at Harry's friend with an amused look in her face. "Don't you have something for me?"

Ron's face was an unbelievable shade of scarlet, but he did his best to speak nonchalantly. "Actually I don't, Hermione. I must've forgot. Sorry."

"Oh," she said in a small voice.

"I mean," Ron began in a rush, "after everything you said last night, I didn't think you'd even _want _. . ."

"Of course," she replied rather vacantly. "I did say those things, didn't I?"

"If I'd _known_ - "

"Never mind, Ron," Hermione interrupted quietly, making a swift, dismissive gesture with one hand. "You don't have to apologize."

Harry breathed an inward sigh of relief. After the row Ron and Hermione had had fourth year after Yule Ball, he'd been expecting a noisy scene full of stomping feet and furiously raised voices. But Hermione seemed to be taking it remarkably well.

Until he saw her eyes, that is.

Harry knew that look. He suspected he must've have worn it most of the time growing up at the Dursley's. It spoke of nothing more than the deepest disappointment.

"Hey, Hermione," he said cheerfully in an attempt to change the subject. "Have you seen Fred and George's flying cupid yet? The bewitched it so that it'll poke you with a sharp stick until you go kiss someone. It's really something. Must've taken them hours -"

Hermione gave a somewhat shaky laugh. "No," she said. "But Parvati was telling me about it. I've been meaning to ask them to catch it and put it away." A confused look came over her face. "We don't want anyone's eye getting poked out . . ."

Silence fell. Harry glanced awkwardly from one friend to the other. Ron was staring determinedly off into space, and Hermione was tugging viciously on a strand of curly hair.

"Um," she said finally. "I'm going to go find Lavender, all right? I wanted to ask her something about class . . ."

She fled.

Ron let out a whoosh of air, his lanky frame deflating. "You see, Harry," he said haughtily. "I told you she wouldn't care."

Harry turned to his friend to if he was really that dense. But Ron wouldn't meet his eyes.

Harry sighed. "C'mon," he said, putting a steering hand on Ron's shoulder. "Let's go find Neville."


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N**: I was so rushed getting the last chapter up (I was on my way out to a winter formal dance), that Ididn't have timeto comply with the niceties of fanfiction. Sorry to everyone who reviewed the first chapter that I didn't respond to. Reviews mean a lot to me, and I really appreciated your feedback. I'll confess, when I staggered back into my apartment at 3 am, the first thing I did was check my e-mail for reviews : ). Everyone who reviewed made my night! This time, Reader Review Responses to everyone are below.

**Standard Disclaimers Apply**: Harry Potter Co. belong solely to JK Rowling. I just crash the party every now and then.

**HERMIONE'S VALENTINE**

_Chapter 3_

It turned out to be a very long and commotion-filled Valentine's Day.

Harry had forgotten the vast potential for drama that always accompanied the Muggle holiday. All told, he thought ruefully, more relationships had been formed and broken in the past twenty-four hours than in his whole time at Hogwarts combined.

The Patil twins were no longer on speaking terms. Parvati had told a sixth year Ravenclaw smitten with Padma that she was her sister, sneaking in a good snog behind a tapestry before Padma caught them. All this had happened directly below the Divination classroom. The ensuing cacophony of screams and cries and crashing armor was so loud that Professor Trelawney stuck her head out of the trapdoor and asked dreamily whether someone had been murdered? She had been seeing dark portents for some time now.

Fred Weasley had tried a similar trick with Angelina Johnson, who had responded by quite cheerfully dropped a handful of flobberworms down the neck of his shirt, advising him that he needed to do something about the funny smell that followed him if he wanted to pretend to be his brother. Since Angelina usually didn't carry flobberworms in her back pocket, it was widely assumed she had received prior warning and that George had engaged in some double-crossing mischief aimed at his brother.

Lavender Brown had received devout declarations of love from a dumpy third-year, and Luna Lovegood had wandered the castle all day asking everyone what the occasion was. Neville, still smarting from the humiliation of the previous night, had treated Dean Thomas with his best attempt at cold disdain. Dean, in return, had told Neville to dry up.

And Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley treated each other with the most extraordinary politeness.

Harry found this last phenomenon to be particularly frightening.

But things didn't become truly insane until dinner that evening in the Great Hall.

The three of them and Neville were lingering over second helpings of cherry pie, trying to delay the inevitable return to homework. Ginny had abandoned her friends to join them in what Harry assumed was an attempt to protect Hermione from further insult. She ignored her brother completely except for the time she spent glaring daggers at him. But Ron refused to be embarrassed, kept shoveling food in his mouth, and asked Hermione nicelyto pass the cream.

But if Hermione and Ron weren't acknowledging the tension between them, they compensated for the usual lack of bickering by engaging in some strange competition to monopolize Harry's attention.

"Hey Harry, when's our next Quidditch practice?"

"Tuesday, Ron. You know that."

"Oh, yeah. Well, uh, the weather might be pretty bad that day . . . what do you think you're going to wear?"

"I don't know, Ron. I was pondering swimming trunks."

"Harry, have you finished Flitwick's essay on the _Formica Eradicus_ charm yet? I've been reading ahead, and the book doesn't discuss whether it could effectively counteract a misguided - "

"Hermione, that essay's not due till next _month_."

"So you haven't finished it yet?"

"No."

"Hey, Harry, the Chudley Cannons are playing this weekend. If they win they're ahead in the rankings - "

"Do you think Professor Flitwick wants us to discuss its effect on wood mites? I mean, I could, but I'm already one scroll over the limit - "

"Their Keeper's overrated, though, don't you think? I mean, he couldn't stop a quaffle if it hit him in the stomach - "

"Although Flitwick's never marked me down for going over length like Snape has -"

Harry groaned. His gaze met Ginny's across the table and she gave a small, silently sympathetic smile.

Neville was looking from Ron to Hermione in confusion. "Say, are you two fighting? You seem - _ouch_!" He turned to Ginny with a shocked look on his face. "What was that for?" he griped, reaching down to rub his ankle beneath the table.

Ginny gave him a broad, innocent smile. "What was what, Neville?"

"You kicked me!"

"I did no such thing. Maybe you banged your shin against a table leg accidentally."

"I did not!"

"Neville, we can discuss this _later_." She gave him a meaningful stare, with only the slightest jerk of the head in Ron and Hermione's direction, both of whom were staring nonchalantly into space and pushing pie around their plates, pretending they had heard nothing.

"Oh . . ." Neville nodded in wise understanding. "Okay, Ginny. We'll talk . . . _later_."

Ginny rolled her eyes.

Harry was suddenly tired of the game. "C'mon," he said abruptly, scraping his chair back. "Let's head up to the Tower. Neville, I'll play you in a game of Exploding Snap?"

As the five of them approached the Hall Doors, Harry noticed a giggling cluster of first-year Slytherin girls standing nearby. The five of them slowed down almost unconsciously, curious about what the fuss was about.

Pansy Parkinson was standing at the center of the adoring throng. A smugly superior smile was plastered on her face, and she was smoothing her hair with one hand.

"He didn't, Pansy!" one of the girls was squealing. "Really?"

Harry saw the smirk on Pansy's face become even more self-satisfied. She studied the younger girl with disdainful, half-closed eyes. "I swear he did," she purred.

"Where did it happen?" asked another girl, leaning forward in breathless anticipation.

"In the halls between classes." Pansy studied her fingernails with casual nonchalance.

A third girl sighed and wilted against the wall, pressing a hand against her heart. "How romantic," she breathed. "Draco Malfoy is _soooooo _handsome. If only someone had kissed me today . . ."

Harry and Ron exchanged sideways glances full of laughter. Malfoy and Parkinson? Oh, this was going to be good.

"You know, it wasn't just kissing," Pansy continued confidentially. "But these aren't things I should be telling innocent first years . . ."

Hermione stepped up beside Harry and grabbed his arm. "What a liar!" she hissed in his ear. "I can't believe it. Everyone knows Malfoy detests her!"

Harry turned to her in surprise. Hermione was glaring at Parkinson with more dislike than he had ever seen before on her face.

"What was that, Granger?"

Harry turned again to see Pansy pushing her way through the crowd of first years. The Slytherin came to stand directly before Hermione, fists on her hips, blocking the Gryffindor girl's way out of the Hall.

Hermione stared blankly for several seconds before an uncharacteristically cruel expression came over her face. "You heard what I said, Parkinson!" she snapped. "I called you a stinking liar. Malfoy wouldn't touch you with a ten foot pole, much less kiss you!"

"And who made you such an expert on men, Granger?" Pansy sneered. "I don't see any boyfriend of yours nearby. Or do you only let him out of his cage for special occasions?"

Harry saw Hermione's nostrils flare. Incredibly enough, her hair seemed to be growing even more curly as he watched. "C'mon, Hermione," he murmured, pulling on her sleeve. "Let's go."

Hermione flung his hand off violently. "Let _go_, Harry!" She whirled back to Pansy. "Whatever I do or do not know about men, Pansy," she sniffed, "is none of your business."

"Really! I don't think you've ever even kissed someone before!"

Hermione stared at the Slytherin girl, a calculating look in her eyes. Harry, Ron, and Neville cast uneasy glances at each other. Ginny looked as if she were gathering the courage to intervene.

But before anyone said something, Hermione tossed her hair. "As a matter of fact, Pansy," she said quite coolly, "I've been kissed _many _times."

The boys' jaws dropped nearly to the floor. Now, Harry was sure there were some things - _girl _things - that Hermione didn't tell them about. But still . . . something like a kiss? Well, it would've been at least nice to know. It must've been Krum.

But then Harry saw the look on Ginny Weasley's face. She was staring at Hermione with undisguised shock andan unmistakable warning in her eyes. It was then Harry knew that Hermione Granger was telling the most outrageous, boldfaced lie of her life. If there had been anything to know, Ginny would've known it.

Apparently, Pansy Parkinson also had her doubts. "I don't believe you," she said scornfully. "Anyway, you can't _prove_ it."

"Can't I?" Hermione asked archly, tilting her chin in the air.

A sly look came over Pansy's face. "Fine then," she said smugly. "Prove it! Kiss someone here. Right now. And then maybe I'll believe you."

Complete silence fell. The Slytherin first years were staring at the two older girls with awed admiration on their faces. Epic battles like this didn't happen everyday. Neville's eyes flickered from Hermione to Pansy and back again uneasily. Ron was so pale that the freckles on his cheeks stood out like flakes of cinnamon. "Hermione . . ." Ginny said weakly, reaching a hand out to touch her friend.

Hermione didn't even look at her. Her face had a pinched, determined look that Harry had never seen before. "Fine!" she snapped.

With reflexes that would have done any Seeker proud, she whirled to face the group of friends standing at her back. Her eyes swiftly scanned her options while Harry, Ron, and Neville shuffled their feet nervously and inched backwards. "Oh boy," Neville gulped softly.

But Neville needn't have worried, for Hermione took two steps forward, grabbed Ron by his ears (_Ouch_, Harry thought vaguely, _that looks like it hurt_), pulled his face towards hers, and awkwardly pressed her lips against his.

Harry stared, fascinated, as the kiss went on and on. It did not look pleasant.

Pansy and the Slytherin girls stared.

Ginny stared.

Neville stared.

Hermione finally shoved Ron away from her and folded her arms across her chest. A defiant challenge glittered in her eyes, but it was directed at Ron, not Pansy. He staggered backwards, ears flaming, and Harry could see that there was a split-second when his friends' gazes met directly. Neither said a word.

But then Ron looked away and wiped his mouth awkwardly with one hand. "Ugh, Hermione!" he grunted. "Wotcha have to do that for?"

Hermione's face went paper white, except for two bright-red spots that flared high on her cheeks. Her mouth opened once or twice as if to speak. Without a word, she turned on her heel and stalked from the Hall. Harry had only a glimpse of the tears starting to pour down her cheeks.

Pansy was snickering. "I told you," she muttered to her friends. "She'd never kissed any one before."

"Shut up, Pansy!" Harry growled, taking a step forward.

"Make me, Potter!" she snapped.

Before Harry could make another move, Ginny stepped passed him with a half-empty dish of cranberry sauce clenched in her hands. Pansy stared at the girl, obviously not comprehending what was about to befall her. With a coolness Harry wouldn't have believed possible, Ginny poured thedish's wholecontents over Pansy's head.

"You're despicable," she said quietly.

Pansy spluttered. The first-years gasped.

Ginny didn't give the Slytherin girl a second glance. She whirled upon her brother. "What the hell's the matter with you?" she snapped accusingly before running in the direction Hermione had taken.

Harry and Neville turned to Ron with the same question in their eyes.

"I . . . I didn't mean - " he stammered, looking at them pleadingly, rubbing one hand through his red hair. "What was I _supposed _to do?"

Neville shook his head and put a sympathetic hand on Ron's shoulder. "Anything but that, mate," he sighed. "Anything but that."

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Reader Review Responses:

_PixieDust_: I did too! One of my uncles used to read the dictionary when young. We tease him about it mercilessly. : )

_AJ_: Thanks! I don't mind messing with the chronology of the books, but I really wanted the characters to ring true. I think that's the most important thing.

_darkwickedwitch_: Thanks!

_GiGiFanFic_: Yes, two more chapters! I think I'm going to be late with the fourth one however. It's only half-written and I have class tomorrow. I loved Valentine's Day in school, too. It may seem in this story I have an axe to grind, but I don't. I especially loved decorating the envelope pouches we hung off our desks . . .

_sincerlywithhopeforthefuture_: Updates coming!

_AJ Lovegood_: Thanks!


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N**: I've got good news and bad news. The good news? I decided to add just one more chapter, so this isn't the last! The bad news? Chapter 5 might not be up for a few days, although the wait shouldn't be as long this time. When I went to finish the story I realized I needed an extra scene. I figured that after torturing Hermione, it was Ron's turn to suffer a bit. _Cackles gleefully_. But Chapter 5 is mostly already written, it just needs to be proofed. Give me till Monday. If I couldn't finish by Valentine's Day, at least I'll finish a week to the day later, for whatever that may mean.

**Standard Disclaimers Apply**: Harry Potter Co. belong solely to JK Rowling.

Thank you thank you thank you to everyone who reviewed! Please keep reviewing! **Reader Review Responses** are below.

**Hermione's Valentine**

"You can tell the world, you never was my girl.

You can burn my clothes when I am gone.

Or you can tell your friends,

Just what a fool I've been

And laugh and joke about me on the phone.

But don't tell my heart, my achey breaky heart

I just don't think he'd understand.

And if you tell my heart, my achey breaky heart,

He might blow up and kill this man."

- Billy Ray Cyrus, "Achey Breaky Heart."

_Chapter 4_

Wisely, the three boys didn't hang about to discover what revenge an enraged and cranberry sauce-soaked Pansy Parkinson might inflict upon them.

Before the spluttering Slytherin could recover herself, Harry grabbed Ron and Neville and dragged them away, shoving aside the Slytherin first years to reach the doors. Once outside, they raced through winding corridors and up crooked staircases until they reached the Fat Lady. Harry breathlessly shouted "_Cheese whiz_!", and they tumbled through the portait hole.

"Ugh," Neville panted once they were through. He shrugged his rumpled robes back into place, glared at Harry, and then turned to Ron. "Is Ginny like that at home?" he gasped in disbelief. "Wow, remind me never to get on _her _bad side. My relationship with condiments is bad enough as it is."

Ron muttered something Harry couldn't quite hear, but which sounded like: " . . . taking after Mum more and more . . . a terrible temper . . . quite nasty, really." Harry was just about to laugh and ask Ron about a certain incident involving Malfoy and a bowl of green pea soup, when he noticed that every face in the Gryffindor Common Room was turned toward them in dead silence.

He gulped, the laughter dying in his throat. He had forgotten that no matter how swiftly feet may travel, rumor can never be outraced.

Disgust stared out at him from every female face he saw. Girls were scattered about in groups, and Harry could tell from the accusatory silence what they must've been talking about when the three of them entered.

To make matters worse, Ron seemed to be noticeably short of allies. There were almost no boys present. Harry guessed they must've already retreated to their dormitories, where they were assured of shelter from the coming storm. The few brave - or dimwitted - ones who remained stared guiltily at their toes, obviously believing that Ron's crime indicted them all.

Hermione and Ginny were nowhere to be seen, but a few heads turned meaningfully toward the girls' staircase told Harry in what direction they must've gone.

_At least it's Ron they're mad at for once, and not me_, he thought with a slight twinge of guilt. Still, he didn't want his friend to suffer more than needed.

"Uh, Ron," he whispered, leaning forward and tugging on his friend's robes. "Do you want to go study in the library tonight?"

"You know," Neville agreed, backpedaling nervously toward the portrait door. "I think Harry's got a brilliant point there . . ."

"No, I want to stay here," Ron insisted. He hunched his shoulders and walked forward. Exchanging trepidated glances, Harry and Neville followed. Faces turned to stare as they passed. Lavender Brown gave a loud sniff.

"If _I_ was Ginny," she said just loud enough so all could hear, "I certainly wouldn't have wasted that cranberry sauce on prissy Pansy Parkinson . . ."

There were angry feminine murmurs of assent throughout the room. Neville gulped and went pale.

"Rotten luck, Ron," Colin Creevey muttered sympathetically, low enough so that only they could hear. "I mean - _women_!"

Ron shot him a withering look.

They approached the armchairs positioned before the fire. Three first years were sitting there, curled up in blankets with parchment and quills. They watched wide-eyed as Ronald Weasley stormed toward them.

"Scat, brats," he growled menacingly.

With a flurry of parchment and muttered apologies, they gathered their things together and fled.

Ron collapsed in a now-empty - but still warm - armchair and stared moodily at the fire. Harry and Neville took the seats beside him.

Harry tried to find something helpful to say. He had never seen Ron look so miserable before. "You know," he said in what he hoped was a cheerful manner, "Lavender's right. It really _could've _been you with cranberry sauce down your shirt. Or even worse . . . liverwurst."

Ron gave him a sardonic glance. "That was _not _helpful, Harry," he said. "Try again."

"How about a nice, sympathetic silence?" Neville asked hopefully.

Ron nodded, his eyes fixed on the flames before him. "Fine."

Harry breathed a sigh of relief. "Sounds good to me," he said, closing his eyes and leaning his head back against a pillow. _Valentine's Day_! he thought with disgust. Apparently, even the wizarding world was not immune to its destruction and mayhem.

Slowly, conversation was building up around them as students started to mingle again in the normal fashion. Reassured by the lack of screams and shattering glass, several boys ventured forth from their dorms and made their way tentatively back downstairs.

Fred and George were among these. Harry saw their twin heads peer around the edge of the spiral staircase, scan the room quickly, and then locate their youngest brother sitting next to the fire.

"Look, George! There he is!"

Ron groaned and shut his eyes.

Fred and George sprinted forward, launching themselves over chairs and ducking under tables like secret agents. Angry protests and projectiles of wadded-up parchment followed in their wake.

"Ronniekins!"

"You're alive!"

"And not maimed!"

"And definitely _not _covered with flobberworms - "

"Haha. Very funny, dear twin of mine. I wouldn't dare sleep tonight if I were you . . ."

Breathless with anticipation, the twins perched themselves on Ron's armrests and leaned in upon their brother.

"C'mon, Ron," Fred prodded, lowering his voice to a whisper. "Spill the beans. Everyone already _knows _everything anyway . . . You should've _heard _the language our dear, innocent Ginny used."

"Scary. Bloody scary."

"But we want details."

"Explicit details. For example, did Hermione really do a strip tease to _Achey Breaky Heart_?"

"Hey, guys," Harry asked desperately, seeing the sick look on Ron's face. "Maybe another time?"

Fred looked at him with one eyebrow raised. "I don't think you quite understand, Harry," he said solemnly. "The first time a Weasley man makes an arse out of himself over a women is a momentous occasion. We need to know all the juicy details so we can chronicle it appropriately."

"Don't worry. We already have pictures of Percy in the underwear Penelope bought for him. You'd be surprised how good he looks in pink ruffles."

"I didn't make an arse out of myself," Ron snarled, pulling an open book toward him and fixing his eyes upon it. "Hermione just - just . . . kissed me, all right! I don't know _why _she did it! I didn't do anything wrong!"

"Of course you didn't, Ickle Ronniekins." George rolled his eyes. "You acted in a true gentlemanly manner, the 'parfit gentile knight.' That's why every women in this room is swooning at your feet."

Those of the fairer sex who were within earshot glanced disdainfully in their direction. Snorts of disgust were distinctly audible.

"See what I mean?"

Fred draped a chummy arm about his younger brother's shoulders. "Look here, Ron," he advised. "When you're in love with a classy lady like Hermione, you can't just -"

"I'm NOT in love with Hermione!" Ron roared.

Heads whirled in their direction.

Fred and George exchanged knowing grins over their brother's head. "He that doth protest too much . . ." George said wisely, laying a finger knowingly along his nose.

"Oh, shove off!" Ron snapped, hunching over his book.

Harry, Ron, and Neville remained by the fire for hours pretending to study. Neither Hermione nor Ginny made an appearance downstairs, which Harry could only assume was good news for the future symmetry of Ron's nose. Still, he was worried about Hermione. Almost he considered getting his invisibility cloak and sneaking up the girls' staircase to see if she was alright. He hadn't liked that look on her face as she escaped the Hall.

Still, that would mean leaving Ron to the tender mercies of Alicia and Angelina, who looked like they were just waiting for the perfect moment to pounce . . .

Harry couldn't do that to a friend.

The night went on, and the Common Room slowly drained of students as their yawning housemates tumbled their way sleepily upstairs. When the grandfather clock struck midnight, Harry, Ron, and Neville were the only ones left.

Harry's mind was numb with exhaustion. He had meant to stay in the Common Room until Ron felt like going upstairs. But glancing at his friend, he saw that Ron's long nose was buried in a book, which he appeared to be reading ferociously. There was no hint of tiredness in his face. Harry then looked at Neville. The other boy's eyelids were drifting shut, and his head was lolling to one side. He kicked him swiftly in the shins. Neville started and looked at Harry in befuddlement. Harry raised his eyebrows and jerked his head toward the spiral staircase. Neville sighed and nodded in grateful agreement.

Together they yawned, stretched, and rose to their feet. "Hey, Ron," Harry mumbled, linking his hands behind his head and arching his back. "I think Neville and I are heading upstairs. You coming?"

"Not yet," Ron replied, rubbing a fisted hand against his eyes. "I want to finish this assignment before I sleep."

Harry and Neville looked worriedly at each other. Ron Weasley staying up late in order to finish homework was a phenomenon never heard of before. But considering everything, Harry supposed his friend might have good reasons for wanting to be alone tonight. He shrugged his shoulders at Neville helplessly. "All right, then," he said. "See you in the morning, mate."

Ron waved one hand absently in response. "G'night."

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Reader Review Responses

darkwickedwitch: Thanks! Let me know how you feel about Ron after this chapter! Don't feel sad for Hermione, she'll get plenty of happiness to make up for it : ).

GiGiFanFic: Ah, it's those who are ill-suited who make the greatest couples. I sincerely believe that! And I'm always rooting for Ginny.

Zyber Elthone: Thanks!

sincerelywithhopeforthefuture: I'm working on updates as fast as I can! Honest!

jaimie-_louise_: Thanks!

: Thanks!

AJ Lovegood: Of course I'll finish! I couldn't leave a story this good hanging : ). They only thing I have to worry about is getting _too _attached to it . . .

: Of course I'll finish! I couldn't leave a story this good hanging : ). They only thing I have to worry about is getting attached to it . . . 


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N**: I'm back with the final chapter! So ashamed about the posting delay . . . But there was nothing for it, I had too many projects and papers. And I guess I'm just a slow writer obsessed with editing. But now spring break is here, and I'm off to the North Carolina mountains for an idyllic week of doing absolutely nothing! I hope everyone likes this last chapter, it's a little different. Darker. Scarier. Quieter. I loved writing this story and the effort I put into it, so if you enjoyed reading it . . . REVIEW! Reader Review responses below.

**Standard Disclaimers Apply**: JK Rowling owns Harry Potter & Co., Inc. in its entirety. I don't even have the status of a minority shareholder . . . . Also, there's a Samuel T. Coleridge reference in this chapter. Bonus points to those who spot it.

**Hermione's Valentine**

_Chapter 5_

Harry started awake. Limbs shaking, he pushed himself upright in bed. His right hand was throbbing, and he grasped it, hunching over and focusing on breathing. He tore away the sheet that had twined itself about his neck. A dank sweat covered his skin like a greasy film on water, and his pyjamas stuck to him as he moved.

The sky outside his window was still dark, and he could just make out a few glimmering stars. Letting out a whoosh of breath, he limply fell back on his pillow. He lay still for some seconds before rolling over with a grunt and grabbing the watch on his nightstand. The fluorescent hands read 4:30 a.m. Dawn was still hours away.

Dawn or not, Harry Potter knew he wouldn't sleep again. He stared weakly at the bed curtains hanging heavily about him, wondering how he should occupy his thoughts until other the others awoke. If he didn't keep his mind busy, he would dive back into the nightmare again and again and again . . .

He shuddered. He didn't want that.

Completely awake now, he swung his legs off the bed and stuffed his feet into a pair of slippers. He stood up and wrapped his robe about himself for warmth. He could at least go down to the Common Room and try to start Professor Binn's comparative essay on the _Atlantis Accords_ of 44 B.C. and the 1066 A.D. _Goblins Against Mirth Convention_, which had tried - unsuccessfully - to banish laughter.He doubted he'd get much work done, but it couldn't hurt to try. At least it was Saturday, and he wouldn't have to struggle through classes hazy from fatigue.

Making his way out of the dorm, Harry was surprised to see a dark figure slumped over Ron's desk, its head collapsed upon folded arms, snoring softly.

"_Lumos_," Harry muttered, raising his wand and walking over to his sleeping friend. The light cast ruddy shadows on his Ron's head, which emerged tousled from the turtleneck he'd worn the day before. Shadows brooded beneath his closed eyes. One cheek was pressed against papers scattered across his desk, and his rustling snores escaped from a mouth slightly agape.

Harry reached out a hand to shake him awake, but pulled back abruptly when he saw the paper laying beneath Ron's cheek.

It was a heart, cut carefully from an iridescent material. Even as Harry stared, the color of the paper shimmered from pink to red to blue to violet and back to white again. Meticulously drawn dragons danced about the edges. A single word was emblazoned across it: _Hermione_.

Harry shook his head and blinked. The letters looked like they were moving. Peering closer, he caught himself just before laughing aloud. He didn't know how Ron had done it, but the letters of Hermione's name were formed by miniscule fairies, artfully arranged to form the requisite letters, the fluttering wings creating the illusion of movement.

Harry slowly backed away and whispered, "_Nox_!" Ron would never forgive him for waking him up in this situation.

He fumbled his way down the darkened spiral stairs. As he neared the bottom, he was surprised to see a dim, flickering glow coming from the Common Room, where the fireplace must be lit.

Someone was already awake.

Harry scowled, annoyed. During the past year he'd gotten used to thinking of the Common Room before dawn as his own private escape, a place inviolable. Almost he turned around and retreated back upstairs. Mornings like this were not for companionship.

But the nightmares had made the dorm room a cold, unwelcoming place . . . He didn't want to return.

Slowly, Harry peered around the staircase wall to see who was there. At first glance, the room appeared empty. But then he saw the small red head poking up over the top of one of the stuffed armchairs.

He breathed a sigh of relief. It was only Ginny, reading a piece of paper intently. She would let him sit in silence.

He walked forward. "Hello, Ginny."

She gasped and flew up out of the chair like a startled wild creature, whirling to face him. She swiftly thrust the parchment she'd been studying behind her back. Harry had never seen such a look of pure horror on her face before.

"Easy," he laughed quietly, raising his hands above his head.

An exasperated look came over her face. "Really, Harry!" she snapped. "You shouldn't sneak up on people like that! You nearly scared me to death. Your voice sounded just like. . ." She trailed off, her eyes skittering away from his.

She bent down hastily and stuffed the paper under the chair cushion. Harry caught a brief glimpse of blue and a handwriting that looked familiar. He frowned, and thought of his Aunt Petunia singing Madonna to keep from blushing.

"My voice sounded like what?" he prompted, trying to sound nonchalant so that she wouldn't know he'd seen her poring over the Valentine he'd given her.

"Never mind," she laughed nervously. "It was silly." She fell back in the chair and drew a blanket over her. "Have a seat," she waved one hand vaguely.

He took the armchair facing hers on the other side of the fireplace. With a sigh he slouched down and stretched his legs out toward the fire, positioning a pillow behind his head. The flames snapped and roared, and his sniffing nostrils were just able to catch the faintest whiff of cedar.

"So," Ginny said, her hand picking pieces of green fuzz from her robe.

"Yeah," Harry agreed. "Uh . . . do you come down here a lot in the mornings?" He leaned forward and prodded a log with an iron poker to give him something to do. The flames hissed angrily at him in response: _What a stupid question, Potter_.

"Every now and then . . . It's nice to have space to think that's not cluttered with nail polish and magazines. You?"

"No, never," Harry lied, not really sure why he did so. "We don't really have the nail polish problem in the boys' dorm, you know."

"Oh."

Harry grasped for something to say. He hadn't realized how awkward sitting in silence could be. "Really, though, Ginny. What did my voice sound like?"

Her face hardened, and she wouldn't look at him . "Nothing," she said distantly.

"C'mon," Harry grinned stiffly. "It can't be that bad, can it? Just tell me." He tried blunt honesty: "I mean, there's nothing else to talk about, right?"

Ginny muttered a name he could barely hear and buried her face in her hands.

But it was enough to make Harry's heart stop. The nightmare came roaring back at him, and it felt as if there was something slimy crawling in his stomach.

"What?" he asked, barely hearing his own voice through the roar in his ears.

Ginny raised her face, which was pale and unhappy. "Tom," she muttered uneasily. "You sounded just like Tom Riddle."

Harry found there was nothing for him to say.

"Look here, Harry," Ginny said in a rush, pulling her legs up on the chair and pushing hair back from her face. "It's nothing, really. I shouldn't have said anything. I was just sitting here alone, and you know your imagination does strange things sometimes. And I don't know why, but I was remembering what had happened my first year, and then _you _walked in and my imagination must have "

"Stop it, Ginny," he said forcefully.

She stopped.

"I'm sorry, Harry," she said helplessly.

Harry shook his head and looked at the fire through the dark hair falling over his eyes. "Don't worry," he said sadly. "Dumbledore and I talked about it once . . . about the fact that I - I look like Voldemort." Ginny grimaced at the name, but said nothing. "It really shouldn't surprise me I sound like him as well. After all, I _am _Parseltongue." Harry flung the last sentence out like a challenge, as if daring the girl across from him to shriek in terror and flee.

Ginny studied the boy calmly. There was a desperate fierceness to the sadness on his face, and for that she didn't whether to feel scared or grateful.

"Harry?" she asked sharply. "Why are you here?"

He shrugged one shoulder and looked at her ruefully, leaning back in his chair. "Nightmare," he admitted simply.

"I see."

"I lied earlier, you know. I'm here often on mornings."

"That's all right, I knew you were lying. Your nose does this strange, twitchy thing when you're not telling the truth."

"Really?" Harry was taken aback. Did he lie that often? He remembered all the excuses he'd made to Snape over the years . . . all right, he guessed so.

"Ron told me about it. Has he never mentioned it?"

"No, and I'll kill him for it." Harry cursed and kicked himself mentally. It was hard to remember not to use words like 'kill' nowadays.

"Look, can we talk about something else?" he asked hastily, ruffling his hair with one hand.

"Anything, _please_." Ginny begged, giving him a stricken smile.

"How's Hermione?"

Ginny laughed. "She hasn't drowned herself yet, if that's what you were worried about. Although she _was _rather harsh to the book she flung at me. I think it had been one of her favorites."

"Ouch. Sounds painful."

"Don't worry, I have quick reflexes. And Hermione leaves soft pillows on the floor perfectly positioned to dive upon."

"Is she still mad?"

"After I snuck down to the kitchens for a jug of mead, she wasn't."

"_Hermione _let you do that?"

Ginny gave him a sideways, calculating glance, as if debating what to tell him. "I think there's a side of Hermione you boys haven't seen yet," she said mysteriously. "In fact, she was perfectly charming when I tucked her into bed. Kept going on about what a lovely romance novel the whole situation would make."

"Huh." Harry pondered the astonishing revelation.

"Now," Ginny folded her arms, settled herself more firmly in the chair, and looked at him shrewdly. "Was my darling brother still awake when you came downstairs?"

"Nah," Harry answered. "He was sleeping at his desk. You wouldn't believe what he made for . . ." His voice trailed off. "Ginny, you knew!" He said accusingly.

"Knew what?" Spoken with complete - and unconvincing - innocence.

"That Ron made a Valentine for Hermione!"

Ginny giggled. "I didn't _know_," she corrected him. "But I suspected."

The smug look on her face said otherwise. "Ginny," Harry said suspiciously, "you didn't _tell _Ron to do that, did you?"

"Don't worry, I had no nothing to do with it," she assured him. "He came up with the idea all by himself. Fred and George would be proud. He did ask me for some help, though. He mentioned some disparaging remarks you'd made about his artistic talent."

"True," Harry grinned. "It's hideous."

"By the way, how did you like the fairy letters? I'd read the charm in an old spell book of Mum's. I told him how to do it."

"Brilliant."

Ginny smiled and smoothed the blanket over her knees. "I just hope it works," she said. "Poor Ron, he looked so wretched. He just needs help making the right decisions sometimes."

Harry watched the way the fire burnished her hair and remembered the sweet openness of her laughter. Sometimes, it was hard to remember she was one of the few people he knew who had encountered Voldemort and lived to tell the tale. He supposed she had more strength than anyone knew. "I hope I'll never make the wrong decision," he said, staring at her in fascination, not really knowing what he was saying.

Ginny glanced at him with one eyebrow raised. She seemed to be suppressing a delicious grin that wanted to play about her mouth.

"Don't worry," she said shyly. "You won't."

Harry grunted and let his eyes close with drowsiness. The warmth from the fire was making his legs tingle, and the armchair was deliciously soft. Minutes passed, and neither of them said a word. Watching Ginny through half-closed eyes, Harry saw that her head had rolled softly to one side and was resting against one of the armchair's velvet wings.

"Harry, don't let me fall asleep here. Fred and George _will _paint something horrid on my face if I do . . ."

"Mmm . . ." he agreed sleepily, meaning to get up. But it was so warm . . . and the pillow beneath his cheek so comfortable . . . and the world _so _hushed . . .

Hours later, the morning sun finally broke into the Gryffindor Common Room. A girl sleeping soundly in an arm chair stirred as the light warmed her freckled cheek andpulled her robe more tightly about herself. Across from her, a pair of glasses sitting askew on a sleeping boy's nose sparkled brilliantly as the light hit them. But both continued to slumber peacefully.

With the sunlight also came Ronald Weasley and Hermione Granger, who fortuitously staggered into the Common Room at the exact same moment. Both were probably somewhat groggy: Ron from lack of sleep and Hermione from mulled mead. What they did and said upon meeting has gone unrecorded, and no one knows for sure where they went that Saturday morning. But one thing is certain:

They didn't bother to wake their friends.

_Finis_

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_AJ Lovegood_: Alive, barely, but slowly coming back to full life, I think. Thanks for wondering where I was, and _especially _thanks for reviewing my Earthsea fic! It's kinda just sitting there quietly, lonely, waiting for people to read it. I'm working on another one somewhat along the same lines, it's my next project now this is done.

_GiGiFanFic_: Ah, don't we all know and love guys like Ron. Strangely enough, they always seem to succeed in the end!

_darkwickedwitch_: I don't know whether Hermione in this chapter will make you pity her more or less. Some people might think her wild night sad, but I see it more as a form of empowerment. Strange, I know, but everyone needs to let their hair down sometime.

_Moonhawkpebbly_: Thanks! Again, sorry about the delay : (.

_hopeforthefuture_: Yeah, I was a little confused about the name, but I got it now! As for your recommendation, "have them . . . well u know," I hope this satisfies. There are certain things I feel that pale when put upon paper, and must be left to the imagination. Or maybe I'm just not that good a writer yet . . .


	6. Chapter 6

**HERMIONE'S VALENTINE, by Eldrice**

**A/N**: Well, I always hoped one day to come back and fill in that missing scene. And now, after four months of letting it stew, I got the idea and wrote it out in less than twelve hours. I hope it leaves everyone much more satisfied than the original ending I wrote! I certainly had a blast writing it, especially like the last few paragraphs, so make sure you read that far! Thanks so much to everyone who reviewed, but especially to _wingsrookie_, who got me thinking about this little story again after all these months.

**Standard Disclaimers Apply**: J.K. Rowling owns Harry Potter & Co., Inc. in its entirety.

_**Chapter Six**_

"_My heart is a bargain today. Will you take it?"_

_- W.C. Fields_

Hermione Granger opened bleary eyes. Everything was spinning, so she stared dully and with determination at tiny chip in her wooden bed post.

_Ugh_, she thought.

Did she dare move? Groaning, she rolled over and yanked her quilt over her head. This was so humiliating. Not only had she embarrassed herself completely in front of Pansy Parkinson yesterday, but then she had to go and get sloshed on one measly half-cup of mead. Even Ginny – small, innocent, naïve Ginny – had drunk a mug without succumbing to the irresistible urge to climb up on her four-poster and sing a Latin translation of "Take Another Piece of My Heart Now Baby."

Hermione grimaced.

_And I will _not_ think about Ronald Weasley. I will _not _think about Ronald Weasley._

She flung the quilt to the floor and immediately wished she hadn't. She'd never noticed before just how much _sun_ came through the windows in the morning. Her head throbbed with gleeful malevolence as she looked drearily around the room, lit dimly by the sun that was just breaching the horizon. Thank heavens, everyone else was still asleep. Company was the last thing she needed.

With a moan she tumbled off her bed and stuffed her feet into her slippers.

Her usual morning routine, unchanged since her first year of Hogwart's, made her feel somewhat better. She grabbed her robe and shampoo, showered, brushed her teeth, and pulled on her favorite pair of old jeans and a warm, chunky sweater her mom had given her for Christmas. _There_. Now she felt somewhat more human and a little less like the scum one finds in not-too-clean bathtubs.

She stuffed her homework into her shoulder bag and grabbed several quills and sheets of parchment. If she could make it through the day without having to see anybody (_yes, not just someone in particular, but everybody_), that would be ideal. And the best place she knew for that was the library. There was a tiny, hidden nook on the third level where she could curl up for the day with McGonagall's Transfiguration essay. She smiled. This would be a good day.

Careful not to wake the other slumbering Gryffindors, Hermione tiptoed across the room and opened to door, muttering _Silentium _and tapping the wood with her wand to keep it from creaking. She walked down the stone staircase of the girls' tower, watching her feet carefully as she went.

She reached the Common Room without mishap. Well, that's good, she thought happily. Now if only I could make it this easily to the –

"Ouch!"

Watching her feet instead of her path, she had run into something that was large and breathing and covered with a soft wool sweater that smelled rather good, like cinnamon. She looked up in annoyance, ready and willing to snap at the innocent blunderer, and then gulped.

Ron Weasley.

_Damn, damn, damn and blast!_

"Oh, hi Ron," she said, certain her cheeks were flaming. For some reason she couldn't lift her eyes any higher than his stomach.

"Hey, Hermione," he muttered, his face equally scarlet. He had both hands clasped behind his back, as if hiding something. He opened his mouth once or twice, and then brought his right hand forward and shoved something silvery in her direction. "Here, I was coming to give this to you."

Ron must have clenched the paper in panic when he saw her, for Hermione had to smooth out the rumpled paper to see what was written on it. When she did, she gasped.

The valentine she held in her hands, addressed to her (_her!_) in beautiful, flowing script, was probably one of the most beautiful things she had ever seen. _And where did Ron learn how to make fairy letters?_

"Ron, it's beautiful," she breathed. She looked up and gave him a tiny, faltering smile. "Thank you."

"It's not as good as yours was."

"Yes, it is. It's better."

"But only because I cheated and used magic. You actually worked on yours."

"It's still lovely."

And that was that. They stood there looking rather foolishly at each other, grinning and not really knowing what to say. Hermione, without really articulating the thought in her head, knew that without either of them saying anything the horrible events of yesterday had been forgiven and forgotten. (_Forgotten? Forgotten! Forgiven, yes, but, do you really want _that_ to be forgotten . . .?_)

The silence lasted until Ron's eyes flicked to one side and focused with a sudden interest on two figures curled up before the fire.

"Look, Hermione!" he said, his voice approaching the casual bantering tone that was habitual with him. "There's Harry and Ginny asleep. Wonder what they're doing here?" And he frowned.

Hermione's gaze followed the direction of Ron's pointing finger, and there, sure enough, were Harry and Ginny, each curled up in a stuffed armchair before the fireplace. Ginny's face was turned into a cushion so all that could be seen of her was a cascade of fire-colored hair. And Harry was sprawled loosely in the armchair across from her, his long Seeker's arms flung out on either side. His mouth was hanging open, letting a slight, wheezing snore escape. Sunlight glinted off his askew glasses.

"Should we wake them?" she whispered.

Ron shook his head. "No," he whispered, leaning close so that his breath tickled the hair tucked around her ear. Hermione tensed, but didn't move away. "Don't tell him I told you this, but Harry hasn't really been sleeping recently. Let him rest."

"Not sleeping? What do you mean?" She turned to look at him. He was awfully close.

Ron shrugged his shoulders. "That's it. He just hasn't been sleeping. I asked him about it one day and he nearly tore my head off."

"Oh."

Ron was looking hesitantly around the room. "Uh, look here, Hermione. I was, uh, going to go for a walk down by the lake . . . see the giant squid . . . and – er, d'ye wanna come?"

Hermione blinked. She hadn't expected this. Her brain fumbled furiously for an excuse as her mouth opened and shut. But she came up with nothing. For some reason, all plans to study in the library were forgotten. "All right," she finally said in a tiny voice.

Her eyes had fallen and fastened on the spot where Ron's belly button would be, so she hadn't noticed the happy grin that flashed across his face.

"Excellent! Look, go get your coat and stuff and meet me down by the kitchens? We'll nip a bite first."

She ran up the girl's staircase and flung open the door to her dormitory, not caring anymore who she woke up. But only Lavender mumbled and rolled over in her sleep. Hermione grabbed her coat, scarf, hat, and mittens, and tumbled downstairs and out the portrait hole.

Ron was waiting for her by the kitchen entrance. "Here, eat this," he said, holding out a large piece of pastry. "And the house elves already had this all prepared for breakfast, so don't start on about exploiting their labor or anything like that. You would have eaten it anyway."

"Thanks, Ron," she grinned, chewing happily. She was _famished_. And food would probably calm that funny queasy feeling in her stomach.

The giant clock chimed eight times as they walked through the entrance and made their way down to the lake. It was a beautiful morning, Hermione thought happily. Snow had fallen the night before, turning Hogwarts into a dazzling ice castle and the grounds into a gauzy wonderland. The air was chill and biting, and she breathed deeply in order to feel it tickle in her throat. She glanced sideways at Ron, noticing that the cold had caused his pale cheeks to flush slightly.

But the silence was beginning to unsettle her. Why wasn't he saying anything? Looking at him a little more closely, she saw that the corners of his mouth were uncharacteristically grim. Was he still angry with her?

They had reached the lake shore. Without a word, Ron sat down on a log that was conveniently placed several yards from the water's edge. He stared gloomily out in front of him. Hermione dropped down lightly on the other end of the log, preparing herself for the worst.

The giant squid was playing in the middle of the lake, ripping huge slabs of ice apart and hurling them one by one into a ring of seaweed in the middle of the water. It was an awesome display and made Hermione realize why no one ever went ice skating at Hogwarts. Ron was watching as if fascinated.

But she couldn't stand the silence any longer. "Look here, Ron," she began in a miserable rush. "I'm so dreadfully sorry about yesterday afternoon. Don't be mad, please? I mean, it's just that Parkinson girl, she made me so _furious_ that I acted without thinking. It's the way she simpers actually, and that smirk. And really, she shouldn't be telling stories like that to first years. I'm sure Dumbledore wouldn't approve. And, really, I was just doing my duty, and it could easily have been Harry or Neville, I didn't truly care and – "

"Hermione, would you be my girlfriend?"

"What?" The words had come out in a flood, all jumbled together, so that the only thing Hermione had heard was: "Hemee, wood be miguffin?"

Ron breathed deeply, closed his eyes, and forced the words to leave his mouth slowly, as if each one was a toe gingerly feeling its way into ice cold water. "I – uh – was just wondering, I mean – if you wouldn't mind . . . you don't have to say yes if you don't want to, but – but . . . I was hoping you'd be my girlfriend."

"Your _girlfriend_!"

"Yeah."

"Oh. I thought that's what you said." Hermione sat in shock for several seconds before reaching up and tucking a strand of hair beneath her woolen hat. "All right," she said slowly.

"Really?" Ron turned to her with a look of shock on his face. "Are you serious?"

"Don't be so dense, Ron! Of course I'm serious!" Hermione said crossly, not sure why she sounded so cross because she really felt dazzlingly happy. "I wouldn't say yes if I didn't mean it, would I?"

"I guess not," Ron said. "You're not really one for jokes."

Hermione decided to let that one go, and they kept themselves distracted from what had just happened by watching the giant squid toss glaciers like ice cubes for several minutes.

Finally Ron screwed up the courage to say something. "So, uh, now what do we do?"

"You want to go back to the castle already?" Hermione's voice sounded somewhat hurt.

"No! Definitely not yet. I meant this whole . . . girlfriend and boyfriend business. It's kinda funny, isn't it? What do we do? How does it all work?"

Hermione bit her lip. "I don't really know."

"What do you mean you don't know? I thought you and Krum were all . . . well, you know." Ron shuddered. "I was counting on you to be the expert here. And isn't there some secret club for girls or something, where you all talk about stuff like this?"

Hermione giggled suddenly and turned to face Ron fully for the first time. She smiled up into his eyes, and Ron felt his stomach turn into a trapeze artist and start doing aerial flips madly through his abdomen. "Ron! Victor and I were just friends, honestly! _Nothing more_. I only acted like we were sometimes so that . . . well, so you'd be jealous."

"Really?" Ron was astounded. Did girls actually think that way? Ginny was the only specimen besides Hermione that he really knew, and she wasn't like that at all. When she wanted something, she went after it, and no dithering about making people think one thing or another. With Ginny, you always knew where you stood. At least Harry was lucky in that respect.

Hermione shrugged her shoulders apologetically. "And there's no secret club. Or at least I'm not a member. So you see I'm just as lost as you are."

Ron felt a tiny butterfly of panic start to flutter in his stomach. "You mean we have figure this out all on our own?"

"Yep!" Hermione said cheerfully.

He swore.

They sat silent for several more minutes.

"Well," Ron said slowly. "I guess we'll have to hold hands, pass notes, study together, all that stuff, right? And I'll have to buy your drinks in Hogsmeade."

Hermione blanched, and Ron wondered why she got a sudden sick look on her face. "Just no mead!" she choked out.

"All right. Butterbeer's your favorite anyway, isn't it?"

"And you like Fizzing Whizbees!"

They grinned at each other in a silly manner until Hermione decided that such behavior was rather foolish.

"Right," she said briskly, folding her hands in a business-like manner. "As for the other stuff, we already study together, so that's taken care of. I'm not sure what kind of notes to write, but that's something we can save for next Valentine's Day." She gave him a sly glance. "But the hand-holding we should definitely work on immediately."

"Well, that's settled then. First step: hand-holding . . . you sure you want to do this?"

"Yes. But do you think we should do it in public?"

"I don't know . . . aren't there public health ordinances about that sort of thing?"

Despite his serious tone, Hermione knew he was telling a joke by the way he held his breath, his cheeks puffing out with the effort of not laughing.

"Well, that would be very worrisome," she said solemnly. "I'll have to do some research on the issue. The library has the whole collection of wizarding regulations."

"Excellent idea. However, there's no one here right now, so I think we're safe. Do you want to practice for a bit?"

"Sure."

Hermione removed her left glove, Ron his right, and there were a few seconds of awkward fumbling.

"Ow, Ron, that hurts! You're twisting my fingers!"

"Well, if you'd keep your hand still for one bloody second, maybe I wouldn't have to! Honestly, Hermione, you're squirming like a flobberworm!"

She snatched her hand away and glared. "How _dare_ you compare my fingers to flobberworms!"

"Hermione, it was a joke!"

"Not a very good one, I think."

They glared at each other with mutual frustration. Ron's ears were flaming red, and Hermione's hair was bushing out from below her hat.

"Ron!"

"What!"

"That note thing you were talking about? I don't like it. It's so silly, passing mushy letters about addressed to 'dear,' and 'darling,' and 'Sweetums.' And could you imagine, what would happen if Snape caught us?"

Ron blanched at the thought. But he also breathed a huge sigh of relief. He had seen Fred once spend an entire afternoon agonizing over the perfect way to write a letter to Angelina. It had been maddening to watch. He didn't want that. "I'm liking the way you think, Hermione. So we don't want any mushy love letters. Agreed?"

"Firmly. Not for us."

"Excellent. You know, I think we might end up being pretty good with this relationship stuff after all."

"Ron!" And this time, there was true warning in her face, and Ron could tell that something was honestly troubling her.

"Now what?" he asked somewhat nervously.

"Don't think that just because I'm your girlfriend now that I'll start letting you copy all my work."

"Hell, Hermione!" he groaned, admitting to himself that he had actually been hoping for that exact thing to happen. "That's what girlfriends are supposed to do: help their boyfriends. I mean, it'd look weird if you didn't. People might talk, or think you really don't like me at all."

"I don't care," she snorted, poking him in the chest before crossing her arms. "You can just go right on penning your own essays as always. And you better promise that you won't go cuddling up to any other girl for help, either."

"What, you think I'm desperate? I'm not that stupid, you know!" Hermione huffed in response, but Ron was laughing silently to himself. Cuddling up to some girl other than Hermione? The idea had been unthinkable for years. "But fine, I'll promise! But you have to promise me something in return."

"What?"

"Next time I go into Quality Quidditch Supplies, you have to come. And we get to stay as _long as I want_."

Hermione paled, and her mouth gaped. "No!" she choked. "That's not fair! It's against the _rules_ to copy someone's work, and I wouldn't let you no matter what you gave me. You can't use something like that to bargain with!"

"Well, that's my offer. I promise never to ask you to finish my essays, but only if you go into Quality Quidditch whenever Harry or I want. Promise?"

Hermione wrestled with her conscience for several seconds. She knew she could keep Ron from copying her work regardless, but she also knew that he would keep pestering and badgering her with requests until she went mad. He could be damn persistent when he wanted to, and once he set his mind on something, that was that. Maybe it was better to substitute one afternoon of boredom for a guaranteed peace every night . . .

"I promise," she grumbled.

"Good." He reached out and snagged her hand, and Hermione was surprised to notice that this time it felt quite pleasant, really, all warm and soft. He wasn't clenching nearly as tightly as before.

But Ron was squirming nervously, and Hermione watched him with curious eyes. "Ron, what's wrong?"

He felt a slow flush was building under the collar of his sweater. "Well, there's just one more thing, Hermione."

"Which is?"

"Snogging."

"Ron!"

"Well, I mean, how do you feel about it? It's what people do, right? So we should discuss it. And after yesterday, I _know_ we both have experience."

Hermione flushed deeply and turned with a proudly jutting chin to watch the giant squid. "That didn't count."

"What do you mean it didn't count? You had me by the freaking ears!"

"Ron, that was just a bet! It's a lot different, you know, sitting here and you smelling all nice like cinnamon. . . I'm so sorry, by the way," she hastily redirected the conversation from dangerous topics like cinnamon. "Did I say that before? It didn't hurt, did it?"

"It was like getting hit by one of Fred and George's bludgers," Ron grumbled.

"Oh."

"But snogging. Do you think we should do it?"

"Um . . . I don't know. Why, do _you_ want to?"

"Er . . . maybe. But only if you do. I mean, I'm perfectly happy with a no-snogging relationship if that's what you want . . ."

"You _are_? Well, it does seem like a very practical way to approach the whole thing, doesn't it? Not nearly as messy. And no one coming upon you in dark corridors in compromising positions."

Ron felt something warm stir within him at the idea of compromising positions. But he kept a carefully non-committal face. "Yeah, I don't want that."

"So . . . no snogging?"

"No snogging."

"Well. I feel a lot better having talked that over, don't you?"

"Oh, yes. Absolutely."

Ron released Hermione's hand and drew his knees up into his chest, wrapping his arms around them for warmth. He was suddenly very cold. Hermione tossed her hair primly and stared fixedly at an evergreen branch that arched over their heads. Ron turned his head to look at her, and thought about the way her lips pressed firmly together in concentration whenever she was absorbed by reading, except for that one adorable corner that would twitch ever so slightly . . .

"You know what, Hermione? That's a bloody stupid idea!"

Hermione let out a sudden and breathy laugh, her whole body deflating with happiness. "Oh, thank heavens you said that! I didn't want to be the first."

"I mean, we aren't kids, are we? We can snog wherever we damn well please!"

"Well, not _everywhere_, Ronald . . ."

"So come on, turn this way. Let's try it."

"What! Are you insane? Here? Now? Outside? _You_?"

"Well, do you prefer the giant squid, milady? Dammit, Hermione, you're _my_ girlfriend now. This is how these things work."

She started giggling at the thwarted possessiveness so obvious in his face. "I don't know Ron, I might have to reconsider. A girl doesn't come across eight sticky tentacles every day, you know."

He stared.

"Ron, I was joking!"

"Oh, good. I wasn't sure there for a second . . . "

Their eyes met and held, and Hermione felt her breath falter. Were those flecks of gold in Ron's eyes? And how had she never noticed before that perfect grouping of freckles right at the tip of his nose? And if she looked closely, she could see streaks of auburn where his hair was beginning to darken, and the slightest fluttering of pulse at the base of his throat . . .

Hesitating, she reached out one trembling hand to draw him close.

"No, Hermione," he said firmly, catching her hand and holding it fast. He blushed. "This time, I go first."

**FINIS**


End file.
